I Can Make it Stop
by beurownhero
Summary: Sherlock offers Dean drugs to make the pain stop. He accepts. Sam and John aren't thrilled to say the least. WIP. Rated T for drug use and profanity.
1. Chapter 1

"I can make it stop you know," Sherlock said.

Dean jerked. He hadn't heard the other man enter the room. _Dangerous, _he berated himself, _focus. _He turned slowly, his face a mask of calm, "What?" he implored the consulting detective.

"I said, I can make it stop," Sherlock repeated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said turning back around to dismiss him. _Maybe_ _if I keep my back to him he won't be able to do that creepy thing where he reads your entire history in your clothing._

"But you do Dean, you do. You put on this smile like armor and it fools everybody." a pause, "but I'm not everybody." Dean half wanted to slug the pompous bastard.

"You don't know what you're talking about", Dean snarled

"Oh please," Sherlock scoffed, "you don't hide it that well. The pain. Your strained relationship with your brother. Your guilt. Your fear. The things you try to drown in a bottle of Jack."

Dean didn't bother to give a response. He continued to steadfastly ignore him with his examination out the darkened window, but Sherlock heard everything he needed to in the hunter's changing posture. "I get it. Sometimes there's too much. A never-ending deluge of _feelings_," he snarled the last word. "I've learned to cope. John wouldn't approve. He'd kill me if he knew actually, but he doesn't always understand. How can him. He's so _normal._ It's just something to take the edge off faster than a bottle of whiskey. Something to shut the emotions down; make the voices stop. Make things go quiet; calm. The relief is instant. Incredible. The high glorious, and the nothingness that follows, divine"

Dean had turned around to appraise the detective sometime during his speech, looking him up and down in attempt to judge his sincerity. He was about to open his mouth and agree when Sherlock interrupted him, "Great, perfect. I knew you'd be up for it. This is going to be so much fun"


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock looked up from the two syringes he had just prepped, "Do you know what you're doing"

"I know my way around needles if that what you're asking," Dean retorted, "been diagnosing and treating Sam and myself since I was six. Believe me. I got this."

Sherlock nodded, as he handed one of the needles over to Dean. He had figured out that much; he had just asked to make sure. He had set up two syringes. One for himself, and a smaller dose for Dean. He watched Dean inject himself _perfect, of course_, before following seconds later into the anticipated bliss.

"Damn," Dean smiled as the drugs hit his system, "that was fast"

"Intravenous injection provides the greatest intensity and most rapid onset of euphoria. The typical reaction time is between 7 and 8 seconds"

"yeah, okay WebMD"

"What?" Sherlock asked, quirking his head. _Dean is like a walking talking book of references to things I do not understand_ – the thought flitted out of his mind before he had the chance to fully process it.

"Nothing. Just… shut up", Dean said sinking down unto the floor,

"Eloquent" Sherlock couldn't help but respond. Even with the heroin running strongly through his veins, he couldn't help but question the other man's speech.

"this is fucking marvelous"

"Indeed" Sherlock allowed, taking his usual place on the couch, hands folded beneath his chin, legs sprawled up over the armrest, eyes trained on the ceiling. He took a few calming breaths. "Indeed".

Both of them sat there. Silently. Their eyes fixed on the nothing before them. Enjoying the reprieve of the drugs and the scenarios their minds provided for them. Their bodies feeling wonderfully and incredibly numb. All outside sensors tuned out. All nagging voices silenced. All self-loathing evaporated. Just nothingness; beautiful, incredible, perfect nothingness.

For the first time since Dean could remember, he was not full of guilt, or painful memories, or hurt. Dean's last coherent thought before everything turned to swirls was _this. This is awesome._

* * *

thank-you for reading. I think this will end up being 5 chapters (maybe 6). I have the end written... i just have to get us there. Reviews, comments, and criticisms are love. This is my first Sherlock story, and i've only written 3 or 4 for Supernatural, so feedback helps! 3


	3. Chapter 3

sorry this took so long, i really struggled getting this on paper. I am still not sure how I feel about it, so any feedback is appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.

* * *

An hour or so later Sherlock was broken out of his trance by the sound of two sets of footsteps making their way up the 17 steps. John's he recognized instantaneously, even and firm, subconsciously stepping over the squeaky step. The almost silent footsteps behind him undoubtedly belonged to Sam_. He sure is quiet for someone of his size. Nimble. Sure. And sure enough, followed John's lead in missing the squeaky stair. Interesting._ Sherlock still wasn't done being intrigued by these two. As the door to the flat swung open these musings were instantly replaced with a new thought, _busted._

"Sherlock, Dean, I hope you haven't kill- what the bloody HELL Sherlock?!" That was John. _He had caught on then. That was fast. _"YOU HAVE BEEN CLEAN FOR THREE YEARS"

Sherlock hummed non-committedly. He'd have to hope John continued to believe that.

"Where's Dean?", Sam inquired from his place by the door. He had obviously not wanted to interfere with his and John's dispute. "He is here, isn't he?"

There was no reply.

"Sherlock, Sam asked you a question. And I am about 2 seconds from throttling you, so I suggest you answer it". He was still furious, but he had, consciously or not, moved into Doctor mode as he checked Sherlock's temperature and pulse while berating him.

"Dean? Floating maybe?"

"What? Sherlock. That doesn't make any sense. Focus"

Sherlock's eyes wandered blindly around the room for a moment before settling on the lump over by the TV. _I'm high and yet I still see more than they do_

"Dean's here. Sleeping. Use your eyes. Seriously, John. Sam, you're better than that."

As the first words came out of his mouth, Sam was already in motion, into the room and around the couch. His eyes finding Dean in less than a second. "No." he breathed. "No, no, no, no, no, no"

Sherlock vaguely wondered if Sam knew he was repeating himself. He opened his mouth to ask John, but John was up as soon as he had heard Sam's mantra. His anger at Sherlock immediately being replaced by concern for the hunter. "Fuck".

In seconds, Sam and John had Dean in the recovery position, both taking his vitals and attempting to rouse him. They weren't having any success. Frustrated, Sam slapped him across the face, "goddamn it Dean, wake up." Nothing. "Please Dean, please" he gripped his shirt and gave him a shake.

He got a moan in response. "Dean, open your eyes." Another groan. Then he vomited. And that is when Sam lost his cool. He was oscillating between furious and scared out of his mind and it was rendering him almost completely useless as he struggled to keep Dean from choking on his own vomit.

John tentatively put his hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to prevent the impending eruption. "I got this Sam. Just sit back a second". Sam nodded but didn't move. He vaguely processed that at some point John must have left the room to get his medical bag. _Ah, right, he's a doctor. Handy._ John waited patiently for a few seconds, then realizing Sam wasn't going to move away from his brother, created a space for himself alongside the brothers so he could work.

Minutes later Dean was more coherent. "Sam?" he slurred

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here"

"That's good. I'm here too."

"Yeah Dean…You're an idiot you know that"

"I'm Awe…awed…awesome" Dean countered, his words horribly slurred as he struggled to string multiple syllables together.

"no Dean! You are not awesome! You are an idiot! You almost _died._ Do you get that? If we had come home any later…" he stopped as his emotions started to overtake him. John laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sam took a breath, nodding. John stood and retreated to where Sherlock was on the couch hoping to give the brothers a moment.

"Sammy, you don't understand. It.. it was… it's like 20 orgasms. At once. Throughout your ENTIRE body. It's awesome"

"Shut up Dean"

"But Sam, it, it…"

"You are an incoherent mess. You have puke on your shirt, and you scared the living shit out of us. We're changing you. You're going to bed. And we're having a long talk in the morning, so just. shut. Up."

"You're no fun Sammy"

"Shut up dean"

"Always the good boy Sammy, Sam, Sam Sammy Sam"

Sam huffed under his breath _never could shut up, could you Dean?_


End file.
